


We Got Together Thanks to the Dunk Tank

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Title: The Great Ignorance, Derek Has a Crush on Stiles, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, High School AU, Human AU, Jackson is a jerk, M/M, Stiles is bad at reading people, Title is literally what the story is about, You've been warned, background Cora Hale/Allison Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: During the high school’s annual sports fair (when the sports teams, especially the lacrosse team, raises funds for the next school year), Derek decides to actually do something brave his junior year (not that he doesn’t have the support of his best friend Boyd and his older sister Laura,stop laughing) and ask out his longtime crush Stiles Stilinski....It could have gone better.





	We Got Together Thanks to the Dunk Tank

* * *

“Bilinski, go switch with Martin,” Coach says, and Derek tries to pretend he didn’t just hear Coach shattering his well-laid plans of spending all his saved allowance and lawn mowing and babysitting money (a staggering $300.00) by moving Derek’s crush away from the one area where it wouldn’t be weird to spend all his time (and money).

Stiles himself is blissfully unaware of Derek’s plans (and hopefully his crush even though it’s in the embarrassing proportions, like notebook-name pairing embarrassing—not that Derek’s written his name as Mr. Derek Stilinski a million times. He _hasn’t, stop laughing, Laura_ ) and merrily bounds away from the kissing booth relieve Lydia Martin.

Perfect, pretty Lydia Martin who, in the hour and half that she’s been sitting in the dunk tank, hasn’t been dunked once.

No one asks him to, but Coach explains why he’s making the change. He says, “Martin’s pulling in all the cash at the dunk tank but Bilinski’s got nothing going at the kissy-booth. Martin will still be bringing in the bucks while people line up to dunk Bilinski. It’s a win-win situation.”

Derek frowns at him while Boyd keeps a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Stiles skips off to the dunk tank, and Derek follows (at a not creepy distance, thank you, Boyd) and waits by the tank while Stiles changes from his maroon track suit into a white BHHS t-shirt and a pair of maroon swim trunks. Then, Stiles climbs into the dunk-seat. Before Derek can hand all his money to Harley, who is running the pay-stall, to keep Stiles safe, Jackass Whittemore steps up and slaps a dollar into her hand.

“Ready, Stilinski?” she says as she hands Whittemore three softballs.

Whittemore doesn’t wait for Stilinski to say anything before he chucks the first ball. Stiles makes a loud splash when the seat drops him into the water.

Derek’s heart stops and he clutches sat Boyd’s arm until Stiles resurfaces and starts resetting the game. Whittemore waits until Stiles is seated again before he lobs the second ball.

Boyd pries his fingers off one tat a time while Stiles resets the seat again.

Whittemore laughs as he winds up and throws the last ball. Angry, Derek steps in front of the button and takes it square on the chest.

It hurts and he falls down because Whittemore threw it with all his strength.

Distantly, he hears someone gasping for breath, and oh, okay, it’s him and he’s not breathing.

This is _not_ how he wanted this day to go.

He’d woken up and decided today was the day he’d admit his big, undeniable (Stop _laughing, Laura!_ ) crush on Stiles—especially because Stiles couldn’t run away from him if he was assigned to a booth.

Instead, here he lies dying and no one except Boyd (and Laura) will ever know that all he wanted from life was to kiss Stiles silly (not that Derek has any experience kissing anything except his arm— _STOP LAUGHING, LAURA!_ ).

“Hey, Hale, you okay there?” Coach’s face materializes in front of Derek, blurry and out of focus, kind of like how Coach always is if stared at directly.

Coach is not the last thing Derek wants to see in this life. He tries to tell him that, but he still doesn’t have any breath to spare.

“I think,” Boyd says, just loud enough to be heard over the clamoring of the growing crowd, “that Stilinski should administer mouth to mouth.”

A wet slap echoes in Derek’s ears, and then suddenly, there is a drenched Stiles hanging over him. Derek blinks up at him while he drips on him.

“Hi,” Derek whispers. His chest still hurts where the ball hit it.

“Hi,” Stiles says back. “You doing okay? No CPR needed?”

Derek shakes his head. “I think that would make it worse,” he says. Stiles laughs.

Then, Boyd shoulders Stiles away to help Derek sit up. As soon as he’s able to stand up, Derek limps (leaning heavily on Boyd) to a bench near the dunk tank. Boyd offers to hunt down the school nurse and Coach declares that Derek should get checked out at the hospital.

“I’ll take you,” Stiles offers. “I feel responsible.”

“Why?” Boyd asks. “Derek was the idiot who got behind a fastball.”

“But why would anyone do that?”

Boyd looks meaningfully at Derek, and if Derek didn’t think it would hurt him more than it would hurt Boyd, he would smack him to get him to stop.

“What?” Stiles asks. “What does that mean?” Frustrated, he grabs Derek’s arm and tugs gently. “Stop communicating with your eyebrows. Not everyone is fluent in eyebrowlese.”

“Would you like to be?” Derek asks before he can think too much about it. He still cringes at the absolute cheesiness of it.

“What?” Stiles says. “What does that mean?”

“Are you dense, Bilinski?” Coach demands. “Even I know Hale’s trying to ask you out. God knows why. I mean, you’re hyperactive, you don’t really do well with focusing. You’re—”

“You’re perfect,” Derek interrupts.

Stiles stares at him, mouth agape. “What?”

“You,” Derek stutters, “you’re perfect.”

Stiles’ face sets in a mask of fury. “Oh, hardy har har. Sure, mess with a guy’s feelings. Don’t be such an asshole, Derek.”

“You know my name?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re in three classes together this year. Derek, we went to kindergarten together. Tell me again why wouldn’t I know your name?”

“You always walked away from me or ignored me outright, like you didn’t want to deal with me,” Derek explains. It should have crushed his crush (heh) but really had only made Derek more determined (even if Boyd—and Laura who likes to eavesdrop a lot—was the only one he ever confessed that to).

“Yeah, duh,” Stiles says, a dagger in Derek’s heart. “I’m really fond of ignoring a problem until it goes away.”

“I’m a problem?” Derek whispers. His chest aches from more than just the hit from the ball now. “You were ignoring me because I was a problem?”

“Yep,” Stiles says. “Pretty sure that’s what I just said.” He sounds so happy, proud of himself.

“I’m sorry I was such a problem,” Derek tells him as sincerely as he can. He thinks he might start crying soon, and he looks to Boyd for help.

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Boyd says, surprisingly sharp. Stiles stutters to a stop.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I’m taking my friend to the hospital.”

“Hey, no, I said I’d do it.”

“I don’t care. Right now, I need you to get as far away from us as you can. Go back to your dunk tank.”

“Seriously?” Stiles grabs Derek’s arm. His fingers are like ice, the cold piercing through the skin, leeching the warmth from his veins. “What did I say that’s made you so mad at me?”

“You called Derek a problem and admitted you’ve been ignoring him. I know his crush was obvious but you could have been kinder and actually talked to him instead of this.”

Stiles lets go of Derek’s arm and gapes at him. “You have a crush on me?”

“Had,” Boyd emphasizes. “Until you ripped his heart out. Now go away so we can leave.”

“Seriously, you have a crush on me? On spastic, unfocused me?”

“Seriously?” Boyd mimics. “Shut up, Stilinski before I rearrange your face.”

“Now, see? This is why I can’t believe the crush thing. You never told me before today—”

“Because you always ignored him!” Boyd shouts. “Have you even been paying attention to the conversation? I’ve had to listen to him pine over you for _years_ and you wouldn’t even give him the time of day. The only reason we’re here at this stupid fair is because he finally had the guts to approach you again after last time.”

“What was last time?”

“Prom,” Derek mutters. “I tried asking you to prom and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

It had been embarrassing to approach Stiles in the middle of his group of friends (the only time Stiles wouldn’t actively walk away from him) only for Stiles to never acknowledge him even when Scott, Stiles’ absolute best friend in the world, and Harley, his second best friend, kept saying Derek’s name and pushing him in front of Stiles. He gave up when the warning bell rang, and both Scott and Harley apologized in their next class.

Stiles frowns for a long moment before his face clears. “Is that what you were trying to do? I thought you were saying something about beating me up for asking Cora to prom.”

“Cora went with Allison Argent,” Derek says confused, wondering what his sister has to do with Stiles outright ignoring him.

“Yeah, well, Allison’s parents are conservative to say the least. Cora went with Allison _after_ we got to prom. Why didn’t you talk to me then?”

“I didn’t go,” Derek admits. “I didn’t want to be there if you were.”

“Dude, it would have been the perfect time.”

“No it wouldn’t have been,” Boyd says. “You keep forgetting, brushing off and ignoring Derek meant he was dealing with rejection. What did you do the week after Lydia Martin told you that you would never have a chance with her freshman year?”

“I moped,” Stiles says. At least he finally looks like he understands just what Derek is going through. “Did I really just spend three years ignoring the person with the hugest crush on me?”

Derek shrugs while Boyd nods.

“I’m an idiot,” Stiles sighs. Then he freezes, a startled look of realization on his face. “I just called you a problem,” he says softly. Derek flinches away from the hand he offers.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers. “I promise, I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never have to ignore me again.”

“No.”

“No?” Derek repeats.

“No. You shouldn’t change anything about yourself. Now that I know what to look for, I’m going to—”

“No,” Boyd interjects.

Stiles turns to him, an eyebrow quirked. “No?”

“Leave Derek alone for a week. One week. After that week, if Derek seeks you out, give him your answer. Alternatively, if after a week of reflections—and trust me, you will be reflecting—you decide you want to pursue a relationship with Derek, you can come find him. One week, Stilinski, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees easily. “Why one week?”

“Because it will give you both time to think through the revelations today without feeling pressured.”

“Bilinski, get back on duty. Behemoth, get Hale to a hospital ASAP. You’re all damn lucky I haven’t called an ambulance yet.”

Stiles stands up, crossing his arms over his chest. He stares down Coach. “Hey, Cupcake, my name is Stilinski, as in the Sheriff’s son. Call me by my actual last name or I swear to God, I’ll bring the entire wrath of the lacrosse team down on you.”

“My name is Boyd,” Boyd adds. “I’d appreciate it if people could call me by it.”

Coach waves a hand dismissively. “Get your friend to a doctor, Boyd,” he says. “And as for you, _Stilinski_ , back to the dunk tank.”

Stiles starts toward the tank before he stops short and turns back to Boyd and Derek.

“I will talk to you in a week, but I want you to know, how I feel right now isn’t going to change.” He raises his eyebrow like a triumphant statement.

Derek feels the bit of hope he’d stupidly let grow again shatter as his heart sinks. “Oh,” he says, subdued. “Okay.”

“You idiot,” Boyd says. And Derek glares at him. Stiles can make whatever decision he wants to, even without taking the week to think about it.

“What?” Stiles asks, looking at each of them in turn. “What did I say?”

“You said no,” Boyd answers.

“I did?” Stiles frowns. “I meant to say yes. Derek, I’m sorry. I meant yes.” He throws his hands up. “There’s no way you can misinterpret this.” He leans in, grabs Derek’s face, and presses a light kiss to his lips. It’s small, chaste—perfect. Derek touches his lips when Stiles pulls away, feeling a buzzing underneath his skin that starts at his mouth and travels down all the way to his toes.

His chest hurts for an entirely different reason now.

Slowly, Stiles leans in again and Derek watches as he gets closer. At the last second, he stills and hangs there breathing the same air as Derek. His eyes are half-lidded, the amber-brown cast in shadow. It makes heat pool low in Derek’s stomach

“I’d like to kiss you again,” Stiles whispers. Derek nods, barely, afraid that he’ll bump their heads and ruin the moment.

Stiles moves forward and their lips meet. It’s just as perfect (and chaste) as the first one, even if the angle puts Stiles’ nose uncomfortably close to his eye.

When Stiles pulls back this time, Boyd pushes between them. Derek’s hand rises to his mouth.

“I really need to get him checked out and you should get back to your station before Coach gets mad again.”

“Okay. Hey, I’ll see you in school, okay Derek?”

Derek nods, still feeling his lips—Stiles kissed him—twice!

Boyd shakes his head, amused. “At least you can save your money for a date now,” he says, as much a blessing as it is a reprimand.

“I’ll still wait the week, if you want me to,” Stiles offers.

“No, I don’t want to wait a week,” Derek says, grabbing the opportunity with both hands.

“Pick you up at 7:00 today?”

“Today?” Derek squeaks. Boyd covers his mouth.

“Today is fine, Stilinski. You know where the Hales live. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” Stiles promises before he heads back to the dunk tank where, surprise, Jackass Whittemore is waiting to throw his interrupted third ball.

Boyd hustles Derek to the parking lot before he can something stupid again, like stepping in front of Whittemore’s throw again. He shoves him into the front passenger seat of his mom’s minivan.

Then, Boyd climbs into the driver’s seat and peels out, heading for the hospital.

“I have a date with Stiles,” Derek says at the first stoplight.

“Yep.”

“He kissed me,” Derek continues.

“I saw that.”

The light turns green and Boyd presses the accelerator.

“He kissed me again.”

“I saw that too.”

“Are you mad that we’re not waiting a week?”

Boyd takes one hand off the wheel and claps Derek on the shoulder. “I am not mad that you’re ignoring my advice. I’m happy that you found the courage to talk to Stiles and that it worked out. Now, call your mom and let her know that you’re being checked out at the hospital. Also, you might want to let her know about that date you’re going on tonight.”

Derek grins, touching his lips again. “I have a date with Stiles!”

Today could not get any better.

(Except, of course it does get better because he’s released after a quick checkup—turns out Whittemore has great aim, poor speed—and Mom is happy that he’s finally going on a date that she doesn’t lecture him about stepping in front of errant balls (Boyd wisely stifles his inappropriate snort of laughter). And Stiles kisses him again and holds his hand and is polite and sweet and kind and kisses him again. So yeah, the day gets way better.)

 

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> Posted [here](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/post/162536354140/we-got-together-because-of-the-dunk-tank) at [my Tumblr](https://1989dreamer.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comments welcome (especially as this is not the, hmm, style I usually write).
> 
> Let me know if I missed anything in the tags. Thanks for reading!


End file.
